Alphas who were scattered around the store suddenly aren’t anymore. Zeke stays at my back, but Eli crowds next to him and Rafe next to him. Corbin’s at my front and Gage is at my other side. I’m encircled in a wall of alphas.
Then the purring begins, one after another.
“Sweetheart, this is new,” Corbin says. “We don’t want to push you. Everything’s been pushed on you already. But we’ve all talked, and we’d like to be here for you. If that’s something you think you’d want?”
I nod, unable to speak for the chokehold my emotions have on my voice right now. Tears prick the edges of my vision. The purring only intensifies, their scents deepening around me.
Corbin nuzzles down into my hair, scent-marking me first, but then each of them, one after the other, puts their claim on me. Zeke to the back of my neck, Eli to the spot just under my ear, Gage to my wrist, and Rafe to my shoulder. Every touch is a brand, sending heat straight to my core. Perfume pours off. One of my hands finds the back of Zeke’s neck. The other holds to Corbin’s bicep for dear life. Then it’s not just scent marks. It’s kisses.
Rafe kisses me for the first time, slowly, deeply. I’d expected his kiss to be like his quick wit and charm, biting and fast, but it’s the opposite. It’s steady and full of want and care. Zeke’s scent on the back of my neck is replaced by the feel of his tongue swirling and tasting me. Eli’s lips caress the delicious spot just under my ear that makes my toes curl, while Gage takes a single finger into his mouth and sucks. Corbin watches me through burning eyes before dropping to his knees, the hardwood echoing in the small space. His hands circle my hips as he pulls me forward and plants a kiss to the sliver of exposed skin at my waist.
Every inch of me is alight with their attention, and heat absolutely burns a path from my core to my slick-soaked center. I keen, and they all snap forward, intensifying their attentions. Just as Corbin’s hooking a finger into the waist of my jeans, a knock sounds at the door.
They all freeze, and I groan. “Opening time.”
“Just ignore them,” Rafe growls.
It’s a nice idea, but another knock comes, and when I glance around, there’s a definite line forming. Though they can’t see us from the angle of the window.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I assure them as we begin to disentangle ourselves. They file out the back door to avoid the crowd, and I straighten myself before opening the door and greeting customers for the day.
But a balloon of hope fills my chest.
They want to stay.
I want them to stay.
Eli
I’m doodling for a client at the hotel in the corner of Dandy Stuff. Winnie flits around the store, cleaning and helping a few customers. It’s Saturday afternoon, and it’s been busy. I didn’t really have a lot to do today, though. So I stayed with my mate. Something about being close to her helped even with the crowd, and I mostly stayed in the back break room until it slowed down and her assistant, a small beta woman, went home.
Deputy lays against my legs. We told Winnie about the alpha who came in for him, just so she could be more aware, though Corbin doesn’t think he’ll be a problem anymore. She was grateful we’d protected her pup. I reach down and absently rub the mutt behind the ear.
“Can I see?”
I look up from my pad of paper to find Winnie standing in front of me. I have my mask on, so I usually can’t hear her light footsteps.
I hand over the pad. She studies it while I study her face, searching for a reaction I’m not sure I’m prepared for.
My style is lines, shapes, and minimalism. The client wanted something related to hiking, so I’ve drawn a mountain inside a hexagon, crisscrossed with geometric shapes.
“This is really stunning,” she says simply. “I’ve never been brave enough to get one.” I take the pad back from her. Today she’s wearing aloose, strappy halter blouse and a skirt. Her beautiful skin is on display. Thinking about inking that gorgeous expanse of untouched canvas makes my sketching hand twitch, and my cock fill.
She is a perfect canvas for any artist, and I want to be the first one displayed on her.
Winnie’s looking at me, head tilted. “Can I look at your tattoos?” No one’s in the store right now, though. When she’d stayed at the hotel with me the lights had been dim.
I reach forward slowly and take hold of her hip, pulling her toward me. She never resists and settles on my knee when I urge her to. I wrap the arm that held her hip around her middle. Her rose-and-lilac perfume rises around me, and my hand flexes on her stomach to keep from dipping lower than it should.
I take my hand off her stomach and roll up my right sleeve, exposing my wrist and lower forearm. Almost every inch is covered in ink. Some are mine, sound waves riding through a prism, turning into lightning on the other side. A motorcycle done in simple lines and geometric shapes. A skull in nothing but outline.
Others are tattoos that symbolize my packmates.
Winnie’s fingers hover over my wrist. She looks at me with a question in her eyes, and for that I’m incredibly grateful. Most people don’t think about their movements, assuming every average interaction is average for everyone. Winnie notices, though. She notices everything.
“My mate can always touch me,” I assure her.
Her eyes go wide, and their beautiful depths are a place I could drown.
